


Fracturing the Fairytale

by CharmingPromise



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Clarke, Athlete Bellamy, Bellamy Blake is a History & Mythology Nerd, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Minor Monty Green/Nathan Miller, Minor Octavia Blake/Lincoln, Octavia Blake & Clarke Griffin are Best Friends, Roommates, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3941578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharmingPromise/pseuds/CharmingPromise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy is a soccer star and three years running Mr. Ark U champion. To make his senior year campaign a little more challenging his teammates make a bet that he can’t get a date of their picking elected as his Ms. Ark U. Of course the girl in question is his little sister’s best friend and the Princess he loves to hate. Bellarke slow burn ensues.</p><p>The "She’s All That" (college version) AU that you totally knew you wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oh Princess

 

 

* * *

 

Oh _Princess_ , you make the party

With your hands in your pockets 

And your innocent eyes and all those things

Running around in your head

 

Oh _Princess_ , you make the party

You’ve been everybody’s darling now, everybody’s win

Bold for the boys who keep you guessing

And all those things running around 

 

And, “All my pauses they’re all stops anyway”

You would say

And, “All pauses they’re all stops anyway

And I could really use a win”

 

 

Princess- Matt Nathanson

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bellamy pinned the soccer ball between the toe and heel of his feet and lifted it in an arching rainbow over his shoulder before executing an almost textbook bicycle kick. The ball swished against the back of the net and Bellamy got to his feet and dropped into a deep bow in the direction of a smattering of applause from his teammates. 

 

So maybe Miller had left the net unattended in favor of the sideline and water when practice ended a few minutes ago, but that was still a pretty damn impressive goal. 

 

“Show off,” Murphy commented when he joined the rest of the team at the cooler before they headed to the locker rooms to shower. 

 

“I’m sorry that’s a weird way to pronounce ‘captain’,” Bellamy said innocently cupping his ear in the direction of Murphy’s sour face, “Wanna try that again?”

 

“You are a show off…. Captain,” Murphy revised mockingly. 

“Better,” Bellamy asserted, “Time to learn your place plebe.” 

 

Murphy snorted and lobbed a soccer ball in the direction of his captain’s crotch but Bellamy easily dodged the shot. Murphy was an unrepentant dickhead but Bellamy had known him half his life and he figured longevity alone earned them a permanent place in each other’s social circles.

 

The juniors and seniors on the team filed into the athletic complex while the underclassmen were stuck with the menial labor involved in cleaning up and locking away the equipment, before they were allowed to shower off and go home. 

 

It was a month into Bellamy’s senior year and he was sincerely enjoying the privileges that came not only with seniority but with leadership as well. He had been named captain in a unanimous vote at the beginning of the season, and if the early scrimmages were any indication, he was going to be presiding over a winning team. 

 

Bellamy was already shucking his t-shirt and toeing off his cleats on his way through the complex to the men’s locker room and showers when Wick thumped him soundly on the back. Bellamy felt adhesive along his spine and the fluttering of paper against his back and he reached awkwardly to yank off the poster Wick had just torn off the wall and reapplied to his bare back.

 

‘Nominations for Mr. and Ms. Ark U are Now Open!’

 

Bellamy saw his own smug face staring back up at him from the poster and he quickly crumpled the bright gold flier and pegged Wick in the forehead with it.

 

“Ready to defend your title again this year Mr. Ark U?” the scruffy blonde teased, completely undeterred by the paper projectiles or Bellamy’s murderous scowl.

 

After a particularly impassioned speech on society’s superficial obsession with beauty and the evils of beauty pageants largely fueled by a really solid batch of pot brownies, Wick and Murphy had nominated Bellamy Blake for Mr. Ark U as a prank their freshman year. Unfortunately, despite his stoned disdain for societal beauty standards, he was also the literal embodiment of them, not to mention the much talked about new star of the school’s most prominent sports team, and he won in a veritable landslide. 

 

Bellamy had eventually forgiven the duo when he realized that the title came with some scholarship money (he was on a full ride for soccer but he was able to apply the funds to his outrageously expensive history textbooks) and a few sexually ambitious groupies. 

 

Since then it had become tradition for the team to nominate him, tradition for Bellamy to grumble and grouse about it, and then tradition for him to win and be forced to put on a tragically tacky sash, dance awkwardly with the freshly crowned Ms. Ark U at homecoming, and force a smile for some school promotional shots in exchange for some scholarship money and notoriety. 

 

“Seeing as I don’t have any say in it and you punks are going to nominate me no matter what, I guess I’m going to have to aren’t I?” Bellamy replied, picking the litter off the floor only to bean Murphy with it this time.

 

“You have an obligation to your people,” Miller said dryly, shouldering open the door to the locker room and ditching his sweaty goalie shirt into the laundry hamper.

 

“There isn’t even a challenge in it,” Bellamy complained once they had made their way into the communal showers, “I don’t even campaign and I still walk away with it every year. Says something about the idiotic athlete hero worship at this school.”

 

“Oh yeah, that condition that allows you to walk around campus like a god, that really sucks for you Blake,” Jonesy teased from several shower heads down.

 

“I’m speaking at a big picture level Jones,” he called over the gushing water of several showers, “I’m a deep thinker.”

 

“We can always make it more interesting this year if you’d like,” Murphy suggested and Bellamy shuddered as some of the water from his teammate’s spray sluiced off his arm and splashed him at the neighboring spigot. It didn’t matter how hot or cold it was outside, Murphy always took ice cold showers and Bellamy was of the opinion that if that didn’t cement him as a psychopath then nothing would.

 

“The degenerate gambler in me is starting to get really intrigued by this conversation,” Wick called over, “I smell a bet coming.”

 

“Let’s test out exactly how popular you are here at this Podunk little school,” Murphy said, “We pick the girl and you make her your Ms. Ark U for the year. See if you can make someone hot enough just by bringing them as your date. Not only can you exercise that obscene competitive edge you have, we can dethrone your bitchy ex at the same time.”

 

Bellamy wrinkled his nose at the mention of his ex, they had only dated for about a month and he despised being associated with the girl for the remainder of college. Of course she had also managed to win Ms. Ark U three years running and he was forced to share a consummately awkward dance with her each and every year.

 

Bellamy didn’t really think that he had a type when it came to girls physically, but he knew he liked them smart and independent. Echo had seemed ideal at first. He was quickly cured of this impression as what had seemed like quiet confidence turned out to be raging bitchiness. She was quiet because the only reason she saw to open her mouth was to talk down to someone and her confidence was just unchecked narcissism. Sure she was a head cheerleader since her freshman year but she had the ego of a teenage pop star and the empathy of a pet rock. She managed to win this stupid school popularity contest every goddamn year through sheer sex appeal and intimidation. It made Bellamy shudder to think that he had ever been of the opinion that she was something other than the textbook definition worst.

 

“Why do you pick the girl?” Bellamy asked, the idea of knocking Echo down a few notches more appealing than he wanted to admit, “I’m the one who has to take her as a date.”

 

“What and make it easy for you? I thought you wanted a challenge,” Murphy sneered, “Don’t worry I’m not going to stick you with some impossible swamp donkey, I just don’t want you picking some little cutie from your fan club and walking away with this bet without putting in any actual effort.”

 

Bellamy mumbled a weak denial about the existence of a ‘fan club’ as he cranked the shower into the off position a little more aggressively than physics required. He grabbed towels, draping one around his waist and running the other over his shaggy black curls, cursing his competitive nature that was making this stupid bet sound appealing.

 

“Harper seems pretty disinterested in him,” Wick was musing as the rest of the team finished their showers and joined him out at their lockers. 

 

“Can we not pick a cheerleader?” Murphy demanded with a scowl, “Are you trying to toss him a softball?”

 

“What about Maya?” Miller suggested, “She’s friends with the guy I’ve been seeing and she seems totally over the athletes here. She’s head of the chess club and she says we bogart all of the funding.”

 

“She’d probably put up a strong front at first but you know he’d eventually charm the pants off a girl like that with all his hidden intellectual bullshit. The surprise nerd card is kryptonite for those chicks,” Murphy mused, obviously getting frustrated with the lack of viable candidates to which Bellamy just gave a smug smile.

 

“Why don’t we just nominate him for both titles?” Troy, their junior midfielder, suggested, “With those cheekbones he’d probably have half a shot. We all know Blake is the prettiest princess on the team.”

 

Murphy’s entire face lit up in delighted realization and Bellamy felt his stomach drop, “Speaking of Princesses,” Murphy drawled, looking Bellamy directly in the eye with a mocking smile.

 

“Fuck you,” Bellamy said simply, yanking the Dropship t-shirt that served as his second uniform of the day over his head, “Bet is off.”

 

Everyone on the team knew about the Princess, more widely known by her actual name, Clarke Griffin, and most of them had been subjected to one of their Captain’s rants on how infuriating she was. Bellamy had known Clarke since she was 5 years old when his little sister had brought her home the second day of kindergarten, declaring the fiery little blonde to be her best friend for, like, ever. 

 

What had begun as innocent competition over Octavia’s attention had gradually progressed into a more contentious relationship as Bellamy got older and became more aware of Clarke’s privileged upbringing. Her mom was the youngest chief of staff at NoVa General and Dad had been a well regarded environmental engineer before he passed away with cancer. Clarke lived in the nicest neighborhood Arlington had to offer, wore clothes that would make an heiress jealous, and recreationally rode horses. The stark contrast to the simple means he and Octavia had to live by on a single mother’s salary not only embarrassed him, but made him resentful for unintentionally alerting his sister to exactly how poor they really were. Octavia really hadn’t been kidding about the ‘for, like, ever’ thing though and Clarke had become a constant fixture in his life for the past 14 years. 

 

“Oh come on Blake,” Murphy pleaded, his smile falling a little at the prospect of his fun being over before it even started, “I will be your complete bitch for the remainder of the school year if you pull this off. You think it’s nice forcing me to call you captain imagine how else you could potentially humiliate me.”

 

“And if I lose? Because you realize you are stacking the odds severely against me?” Bellamy asked, visions of bitch-boy Murphy somewhat renewing his interest in the entire scenario. 

 

“Apart from the disappointment I’m sure you will torture yourself with, you’re walking that stage naked come May. You’re enough of a golden boy to actually pull it off without getting your diploma yanked then and there,” Murphy said with a smirk, “Come on, I get that you two loathe each other but Griffin is an undeniable bombshell, honestly you’re getting off pretty easy here.”

 

Bellamy stuffed his gear into his duffle bag as he considered Murphy’s terms. John Murphy was the only member of the team who had gone to high school with Bellamy and therefore had extensive first hand experience with the Clarke Griffin/Bellamy Blake blood feud so of course that is who he would pick. He could already see the destruction this would all cause if it went south but he also knew that spending extra time with Clarke meant extra time with his little sister and he had a really hard time passing that up. They had been apart for the majority of the past three years and now that Octavia was at school with him he wanted to make up for lost time. He also wanted to be present in case any XY chromosome having individuals tried to talk to her so he could pummel them into nonexistence. 

 

The thing that finally made up his mind though was something not even Murphy was aware of. For all of their screaming matches and proclaimed hatred Bellamy was undeniably drawn to Octavia’s blonde best friend and a twisted part of him had to know what that was about. Winning a bet, humiliating Echo, and acquiring a Murphy-slave were as good of excuses as any to explore that.

 

“Fine,” Bellamy said, “It’s a bet.” He and Murphy shook on it and he was sure to put a little extra oomph in the handshake to punish the weasely kid for pulling out the Princess card. 

 

“This is going to be an unmitigated disaster,” Miller observed soberly.

 

“What’s going on?” 

 

The underclassmen had finished cleaning up and were dragging themselves into the locker room now. A couple of the freshman had paused at their row of lockers observing the tail end of the exchange. Finn Collins, a passably mediocre defensemen was giving them an expectant smile, assuming he deserved to be filled in on everything the older boys talked about.

 

“Murphy apparently doesn’t see enough of Blake’s bare ass in the showers,” Troy replied cryptically, clearly not appreciating the newbie’s presumption any more than the rest of them.

 

“Okaayyyy,” Finn dragged out, his smile faltering.

 

Bellamy threw his bag over his shoulder and was preparing to leave when Sterling, another one of the freshmen, spoke up, “My friend Mel said there’s a party at the cheerleading house tonight. Were you guys going to go?”

 

Bellamy just sniffed dismissively, Sterling seemed like a nice enough kid and didn’t instinctively rub him the wrong way the way the Collins twit did, but he had outgrown the mindless drunken ragers at the cheerleading house before the second semester of his freshman year. A decent fake ID really minimized the appeal of sweaty house parties with girls he, by and large, had less than nothing in common with.

 

“Mel was really hoping you’d show,” Sterling added, a bitter undercurrent to the statement that Bellamy knew he was desperately trying to hide was audible nonetheless. 

 

“Send my regrets,” Bellamy said, grateful that he had an actual excuse and didn’t have to lie to a teammate, “Wick and I are working tonight.”

 

“The cheerleadering house is kinda conquered territory at this point anyway,” Murphy smirked.

 

“Another time maybe,” Jonesy offered, trying to lessen the sting of rejection a little though Bellamy was pretty sure the blonde would be happy enough to have this ‘Mel’ chick to himself.

 

“I’m going to run past the apartment on my way,” Bellamy called to Wick as they peeled off in opposite directions leaving campus. They had a rare free weekend with no practice before the regular season games began and while the majority of the team was taking the opportunity to party their faces off, he and Wick had swung a couple extra shifts at The Dropship to hopefully pick up a little spending money. 

 

Bellamy pulled on a pair of designer headphones, that had actually been a present from Clarke the Christmas before, and began the several block walk between campus and the apartment he shared with his sister. 

 

Bellamy had always been a talented soccer player but it had been impressed upon him at a young age that if he wanted to go to college it was going to need to be on scholarship so he had refined that talent with hours upon hours of practice and had been recruited by Ark University, a small Division 1 school in DC only a metro ride away from his childhood home in Northern Virginia. As a little liberal arts school, they were lacking in the big money research majors like math and science, but they had very well regarded Humanities and Arts programs which made it perfect for a History nerd like Bellamy.

 

Everything had seemed to be falling perfectly into place until a week before graduation he and Octavia had been woken by the oscillating blue and red flashers from police cruisers there to tell them a drunk driver had made them orphans at ages 17 and 14. 

 

He was lucky to have good enough grades and plenty of credits that he was able to skip the last month of his senior year to grieve and figure out what this meant for his future without flunking. He couldn’t even fathom running off to college and leaving his little sister to bounce around in foster care despite having worked his whole life towards this scholarship. They didn’t have any living relatives but Bellamy was going to turn 18 in a month and he was determined to take custody of Octavia and save her from spending her teenage years in the system.

 

It hadn’t come to that though, as Dr. Griffin had recently become Senator Griffin and she pulled every string at her disposal to have Octavia placed in their Arlington mansion. 

 

‘Clarke considers you two family,’ Abby had told him, sitting both Blake siblings down at a formal breakfast in their parlor. They had a parlor for fuck’s sake. For all of the generosity in her offer and her kind words, her tone was a little calculating. A sour, bitter part of Bellamy couldn’t help but wonder if this was a political strategy, taking in the pretty little orphan girl as a face for her anti-drunk driving platform. ‘I can’t let you throw away this opportunity Bellamy. Octavia is welcome with us for as long as you need.’ 

 

Clarke had been sitting next to her mother with a happily expectant look on her face and Octavia looked about as pleased as any girl who lost half of her family could look. They had been as good as sisters for almost a decade and it was about to become a reality.

 

With that Bellamy had gained yet another reason to resent Clarke Griffin. He was deeply grateful for the Griffin’s help since it kept Octavia safe and well cared for and allowed him to attend school on the scholarship that he had worked so hard for, but it was a huge burden of debt to carry and Bellamy had no idea how he would ever repay it. He hated feeling the obligation to Abby Griffin and if he was being perfectly honest he could admit that he often took that out on her daughter.

 

It hadn’t been much of a surprise when Octavia chose to join him at Ark since she could pursue her kinesiology degree anywhere and it saved a lot of money on housing for them to get an apartment together. It had, however, been quite a shock when class valedictorian Clarke Griffin confirmed her acceptance there as well. Ark was a good school but Bellamy knew for a fact that she had been accepted into Georgetown’s pre-med program which would have been even closer to home and much more in keeping with her mother’s astronomically high expectations. Given their policy of mutual levels of snark and general asshole behavior around each other he hadn’t gotten much of an in depth explanation of the choice but Octavia mentioned something about her hating hospitals and going against the Senator’s wishes and getting an art degree instead. Ark University was the better choice for a studio art degree and so here she was continuing to insert herself into Bellamy’s life. And thanks to this idiotic bet he had agreed to, it was about to get even worse.

 

The more he thought about it the stupider it was and the more hopeless his chances of winning seemed. The issue of access was so much easier than it would have been with any other girl since Clarke had pretty much moved into his apartment. There was a dorm room that she nominally shared with another freshman girl on campus but after being sexiled seven times in the first two weeks of school she had more or less ceased living there. Bellamy had gotten a frantic call from Octavia several weeks ago demanding that he meet her at Ikea ‘fucking ASAP’ only to find the emergency had been their inability to lift the component parts of Clarke’s new futon and dresser combo and the lack of forethought that maybe the metro wasn’t a viable option for transporting furniture. Since then Clarke’s futon had supplanted their ratty old couch and she exchanged groceries and a Netflix subscription for squatting rights. 

 

The trouble with Clarke was the fact that their personalities were nothing short of combustible together. He had a hard enough time having a civil conversation with her much less convincing her to go on a date with him to the biggest social event of the school year.

 

It would have taken nearly half a bottle of whiskey and possibly some amateur hypnosis to get him to admit it, but he never felt more alive than when he was arguing with his opinionated princess. It was probably the reason that they found an opportunity to pick a fight with each other whenever possible.

 

They would argue over politics to the horror of their assorted friends. 

Bellamy was a socialist with side helping of left leaning anarchy while Clarke was a more moderate bleeding heart. Bellamy would call her mother a fascist and Clarke would put saran wrap over his toilet. On several occasions Octavia would step into the middle of a screaming match to angrily inform them that they were arguing the same damn side before either of them had even realized it.

 

They fought about what food to buy. 

‘There are other foodstuffs than variations on buffalo chicken you know?’ Bellamy would scold as the three of them wound their cart through Whole Foods.

‘You can eat it as a wrap, as a sandwhich, as wings, or even as dip so I’m not totally sure why there needs to be.’ Clarke opined, tossing Tostitos into the cart, ‘I might reduce my diet to only dishes that can be translated into dip form.’

‘How are you not a thousand pounds?’

‘It all goes to my boobs. Look I’m sorry I don’t get on board every couple months when you decide to try and like kale again.’

‘It’s a super food.’

‘It’s butt lettuce.’

 

Their battles over music might be the most heated and even Octavia knew to make herself scarce when they started in on that particular topic. 

Clarke had a guitar that lived in the corner of their living room now but he had never heard her play. All he knew was that she liked the most atrociously maudlin singer/songwriter crap and it made him want to break things. But since it was his apartment, he had to settle for trying to break her spirit.

‘How do they even get through daily life without tripping over their fucking feelings all over the place?’ he asked mockingly.

‘Go buy another vinyl you gross hipster,’ she retorted.

 

The only thing they managed to agree on was books since both of them were voracious readers. Octavia had teased them that it was a sign of the apocalypse the day they realized that Catch-22 was both of their favorite books. Since then they would leave whatever book they had finished for the other in a designated spot on the kitchen island. Just this morning Clarke had left the Cormac McCarthy she had just finished there with a note inside that read ‘This book is too good for you but enjoy anyway Fuckface.’ 

 

Bellamy was debating the merits of using their mutual love of reading as a means of getting Clarke to warm to him, or at least be slightly less openly hostile, up until the second he put the key into the lock of his apartment.

 

Clarke and Octavia were lounging across the futon that was pulled up into its couch configuration. Clarke was slumped into the cushions, her feet up on the coffee table in front of them while Octavia was sprawled on her back, her head pillowed on Clarke’s stomach. Octavia was staring intently as Alex Trebek introduced the second round of Jeopardy categories while Clarke was sketching aimlessly in pencil, the sketchbook propped up against Octavia’s ponytail. 

 

‘The early Greek’s name for the water passage connecting the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean now known as the Strait of Gibraltar.’ Alex intoned to the contestants on the screen.

 

“What is ‘the halls of Montezuma’,” Octavia chirped.

 

“What is Gates of Hercules,” Clarke corrected, never looking up from her sketch even when Alex confirmed her answer. 

 

Bellamy rolled his eyes at the two girls engaged in their daily ritual. It was a rare evening he didn’t come home to find the two of them on the couch, Octavia contributing outrageously incorrect answers to even the simplest Jeopardy questions and Clarke following immediately with the right response. Bellamy had berated Octavia over this initially (‘I basically raised you O, it’s fucking embarrassing’) but eventually accepted whatever stupid game they were playing and would even try to beat Clarke to the answer when he was around.

 

It seemed to be fate that the day he was coming home with the mission of seducing Clarke she would be answering ancient greek trivia in an obscenely tight tank top reading ‘I make horrible science puns but only periodically’, blonde curls piled haphazardly on her head and blue eyes darting alertly over her sketch, pretty much seducing him on sight.

 

Murphy had not been incorrect in part of his assessment at least. For whatever derogatory things Bellamy had ever had to say about her upbringing and attitude he couldn’t find a single fault in Clarke’s appearance. Girls seemed to find the label curvy to be insulting but Clarke was the textbook example of why it wasn’t with her small waist and generous chest. Her pretty face was made beautiful with that pair of clear blue eyes that were alight with intelligence and Bellamy was pretty sure he persisted in sleeping with brunettes solely to avoid any reminder of her sun drenched blonde waves. If he was being honest, all of this only served to add another layer to the complicated relationship he had with the girl on his couch. It had always been easier to fight with her and pretend to dislike her than to address potential feelings for a girl who was a completely inappropriate choice. Maybe that had been his deeper motivation for accepting this bet in the end, this felt like the safest way to do something that had been nagging at him for years.

 

Bellamy actually shook his head as if to dislodge his current confusing train of thought. Wherever this utterly terrible bet was going to lead, it was going to have to start with actually talking to her.

 

“Hey O,” he greeted, dumping his soccer bag in an unceremonious pile just inside the door and moving into the kitchen to make a quick sandwich before he had to head to the bar, “Clarke.”

 

He pulled his head out of the fridge, arms full of lunchmeat, cheese, and condiments to see both girls had abandoned Jeopardy to stare at him over the back of the futon. Their twin looks of shock might have been funny if not for the fact that he was pretty sure he had done something critically stupid.

 

“Um….. what the fuck is wrong with you two?” he asked, dumping his dinner fixings on the counter, feeling uncomfortable with the way they were tracking his every move around the kitchen.

 

“You just called her Clarke,” Octavia said pointedly.

 

“Is that not her name anymore?” he asked with a smirk.

 

“You’ve called her Clarke like twice in the fifteen years we’ve been friends,” Octavia continued, “The first time you met her so that you could point out it was a boy’s name.”

 

Despite being only 8 at the time Bellamy remembered that first meeting and the way Clarke had dismissed him with a sniff and a ‘whatever’ that seemed so much older than her 5 years, and the fact that she had persisted in calling him ‘Amy’ for nearly 2 months after that in retaliation.

 

“And then this past spring when we came for that campus visit and she walked out from behind a bus and got hit by that car and we all thought she was dead but then she just rolled over the hood and stood up on the other side,” Octavia finished.

 

“Right, because I’m a goddamn superhero,” Clarke said sullenly, clearly annoyed that this part of the story was always omitted.

 

Octavia offered her an indulgent smile before turning back to Bellamy, “Like, twice, ever.”

 

If calling her by her given name was this suspicious he was in for an even more difficult task than he had initially imagined. This was going to take both planning and work on his part, neither of which he was afraid of. Bellamy Blake loved a challenge which is exactly why he was in this clusterfuck of a situation in the first place.

 

“My apologies Princess,” he said, his voice muffled by a mouthful of turkey sandwich, “I’ll remember my place next time.” 

 

“You eat like a feral child who was never socialized to human ways,” was Clarke’s only reply as she sank back on the sofa, obviously placated by his response.

 

“She’s not wrong,” Octavia said, turning back to the TV in time to chime, “Who is Nancy Drew?”

 

“What is a mongoose?” Clarke amended. 

 

“I am so sincerely blessed to share my home with two such sought-after ladies such as yourselves and not with some weirdoes who spend their Friday nights answering trivia in the form of a question to the television screen,” he teased, grabbing his wallet from the gym bag by the door and shoving it into his back pocket in preparation for his walk to The Dropship.

 

“Hey!” Octavia said, taking faux offense to his joke, “We’re going to watch Dazed and Confused and take a shot every time someone says ‘wasted’ as soon as Alex finishes up with final Jeopardy.”

 

“I stand corrected,” Bellamy put his hands up in surrender, “Social butterflies, both of you.”

 

“Octavia’s not going to be hungover tomorrow either,” Clarke said but it sounded like it was more of a reminder for his sister than a comment meant for him, “She promised we’re going to Eastern Market tomorrow morning so I can get some flowers to paint for my watercolor class. I’m supposed to do a still life of something in my home and I can’t have my sophisticated art friends thinking I’m some sort of philistine who lives somewhere with nothing but Ikea furniture that is decorated in petty misdemeanor chic.”

 

“You could always, I don’t know, paint something in your own dorm room,” Bellamy suggested, mildly offended by the slight on his decor. I mean, yes it was 90% Ikea but Octavia had bought that one floor lamp from Pier 6 and they had to do something with the street signs drunk Bellamy brought home. 

 

It had started freshman year when he had woken up with a pounding hangover and the Blake St. sign from about 10 blocks over but it had become quickly apparent that when he blacked out he also became a criminal mastermind and had added a couple ‘No Parking’, a trio of Stop signs, speed limits ranging between 25 and 50 mph, and inexplicably a ‘bear crossing’ sign. He didn’t know why Clarke was complaining, he heard he had gone pretty far out of his way to get her the Griffin Ave. that hung next to the futon.

 

Clarke had gotten pretty used to ignoring his cracks about her living arrangement over the past few weeks and ignored him as she had every previous time, “Flowers, O, remember.”

 

“Bright eyed and bushy tailed,” Octavia promised, skipping across the kitchen to grab a handle of vodka off the bar along with as many chasers and snacks as she could feasibly carry. She paused at the door to give Bellamy a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek on her way back to the sofa. 

 

“You should come with Bell,” Octavia suggested while Clarke cued up the movie on Netflix, her only contribution a small shrug as if to say she didn’t care one way or the other if he showed.

 

“Yeah maybe,” Bellamy said, suddenly remembering he was supposed to be winning Clarke over not snarking at her to move back to her dorm room.

 

“Try to keep her from doing any online shopping after 3 shots,” he said, nodding toward Octavia, “We have enough blankets to build ourselves a nest to last out another ice age and the cats don’t wear clothes.”

 

Mulder and Scully looked up from their respective napping spots in his recliner and on top of the bookcase as if in gratitude.

 

“Not with that attitude they won’t,” Clarke sniffed waving him out the door while Octavia said a friendly goodbye with a raised middle finger.

 

 

* * *

 

It was just after three in the morning when Bellamy dragged himself in after a full night’s shift at the bar. There were nights when he questioned the necessity of having a job that kept him out past the witching hour several evenings a week, but with nothing more strenuous to do than some reading for his Advanced Classics seminar (and no he would not have done that reading recreationally had it not been assigned)(see: yes he totally would), the late night at the bar had been well worth the tips. For all of the railing he had done against the privileged class he grew up around, it was certainly paying off now that he was in charge of pouring alcohol down their throats.

 

Bellamy ditched his keys and wallet on the island in the kitchen before looking into the living room where the TV was playing an old episode of Real World/Road Rules Challenge softly and where his sister and her best friend were still camped out for some unfathomable reason.

 

So much for Eastern Market in the morning he thought with a huff of a laugh only to have Clarke’s head pop up from behind the back of the sofa, a finger to her lips shushing him. 

 

This wasn’t highly unusual, Clarke was a goddamn tank when it came to alcohol and there wasn’t a single occasion when she didn’t drink Octavia under the table. Clarke was also one of those strange cases where she never got ‘drunk’ per se. Clarke was either sober or blackout, like after 8 drinks a switch got flipped. Apparently their movie themed drinking game hadn’t been quite enough given the still rather coherent look in her eyes.

 

Bellamy walked softly into the living room and saw his little sister passed out across her friend’s lap, her mouth rather charmingly hanging open and soft snores emitting from her. 

 

“Successful night?” Bellamy asked, smiling fondly at his mess of a sibling. 

 

“CT just gorilla stomped across the gulag wearing Johnny Bananas like a bitchy little backpack so I would say yes,” Clarke whispered, nodding towards the TV.

 

“Glad to hear it,” Bellamy responded, rolling his eyes, “Let me get this delinquent off your bed so you can get some sleep.”

 

Clarke nodded and planted a smacking kiss on top of Octavia’s head, displaying just how drunk she might be for the first time since Bellamy had walked in. He bent and lifted his sister, carrying her to her bedroom and laying her gently on the bed, before rolling her like a burrito in her covers. He might love her and always need to take care of her, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have some good natured fun with her passed out ass.

 

After making sure that Octavia was safe in bed with a glass of water and some aspirin on her bedside table he went back out into the main living area to quickly check back in on Clarke before heading to bed himself. 

 

It was as if caring for Octavia had been the only thing keeping Clarke in the land of the conscious because the second he had relieved her of this duty she had dropped off to sleep herself. Bellamy felt another smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and walked over to quietly pull the wedge out of back of the sofa to convert it into a bed. He snagged an arm under her legs and another around her back and softly shifted Clarke more towards the middle of the mattress. Clarke grumbled something incoherent and wrinkled the bridge her her nose in her sleep. 

 

“You’re fine Princess,” Bellamy reassured her sleeping form and couldn’t ignore the small tug of affection he felt over her downright adorable expressions. 

 

Well fuck, he thought as he let one of their many throw blankets drift down over her and he watched Mulder sandwich himself next to her. It looked like his motives for accepting this bet might have been way more complicated than he had been willing to admit.

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC… Reviews are pretty much my favorite second to Bellamy’s cheekbones.
> 
> I'm trying to decide whether to keep this all Bellamy's POV or if I should throw Clarke in there as well.... any thoughts/requests?
> 
> Come tumble around on tumblr with me under the same name!


	2. The Golden Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Clarke play tourists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the amazing reviews and kudos! I'm so overwhelmed by the positive response and I hope I can keep up with expectations. Enjoy the fluff this round.

 

* * *

 

I’m a peasant in your _princess_ arms

Penniless with only charm

As we’re levels by the low, hot lights

And disarmed

 

I’m not afraid of anything, even time

It’ll eke away at everything but we’ll be fine

 

Snow Patrol- The Golden Floor

 

* * *

 

 

Bellamy dragged himself out of bed by 9:30 the next morning, an accomplishment for which he was pretty damn proud. Ordinarily a day off from practice would mean sleeping half the day away, especially after a long shift at the bar the night before, but with another shift looming that evening he didn’t want to waste the entire day.

 

He snagged his cell phone off the bedside table and saw a couple messages he missed while he was sleeping.

 

Murphy: _plow any princesses lately?_

 

and Miller: _Clarke kill you yet?_

 

Bellamy snorted and responded with ‘ _playing the long game you pig_ _’_ and ‘ _not yet_ ’ respectively.

 

He looked up from his phone as he stood in the door to his room scratching idly at the back of his neck and surveyed the scene in front of him in confusion.

 

Octavia was still wrapped in her blanket burrito but she was no longer in bed, instead laying half in her bedroom and half out in the kitchen. Her head was buried down in the covers so only the very top of her tangled ponytail peaked out from the top of the roll of blankets. Clarke was sitting at the kitchen island glaring at the blanket cocoon over the rim of her irredeemably embarrassing cat coffee mug (the handle was the cat’s tail for christs sake).

 

“Your sister is a liar,” Clarke said, her eyes ticking briefly from the lump on the floor up to where he stood in the doorway and it was clear from the bright look in her eyes that their binge the night before had not had the same negative effect on her that it had on his sister.

 

“You know that whole ‘fool me once, fool me twice’ idiom? That applies to O’s consumption of liquor as well,” Bellamy snarked. This was far from the first time the pair had made plans for the day following a night of drinking only to have them all derailed by Octavia’s inevitable super-sized hangover.

 

“Don’t say idiom,” Clarke shot back, “I’ve seen you shake the orange juice with the cap off, you aren’t fooling anyone in this room with your SAT words.”

 

A muffled groan emitted from the pile of covers and Octavia poked the very top of her head out of the blanket, just her bleary green eyes visible now in addition to her hair. It was obvious to Bellamy that Clarke had tried to drag Octavia out into the kitchen to potentially hydrate her into a better state of mind only to make it half way and quit on her dead weight.

 

Bellamy picked his sister up for the second time in less than 12 hours and carried her over to the still reclined futon. He set her up with a glass of water, the pills he had left on her bedside table, and a barf bucket (Octavia was prone to stomach centered hangovers) before turning back to Clarke.

 

“Don’t you have any other friends you can drag to the market with you?” he asked, pausing at the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee (in a dinosaur mug by the way, which was significantly less nerdy).

 

“That are awake and not high?” Clarke asked, shooting him a skeptical look. Bellamy hadn’t spent a significant amount of one-on-one time with any of Clarke and Octavia’s other friends but they had them over enough that he did have a fairly solid acquaintance with all of them. Enough of an acquaintance to know that the response to her question was likely in the negative.

 

“Go get ready, I’ll go with you,” Bellamy finally said, gesturing to Octavia’s open door where Clarke’s dresser was pinned in next to his sister’s. The room really wasn’t big enough for both pieces of furniture but since they spent most of their time out in the living room it didn’t matter to Octavia that her bedroom was a little cramped. It’s not like they had grown up with an abundance of personal space anyway.

 

Clarke was eyeing him suspiciously as if waiting for the punch line to drop on whatever stupid joke he was making.

 

“You’re serious,” she said more than asked after a few full seconds of contemplation. It wasn’t like they never spent time alone, they did share the same square footage of living area after all, but going out alone was definitely a rarity. Bellamy wasn’t entirely sure they had ever done so on purpose, so Clarke’s confusion wasn’t really a surprise.

 

“There’s a smoothie stand there that makes this breakfast burrito I would pretty much sell my soul for,” Bellamy said with a shrug.

 

“Ok,” Clarke said a little awkwardly, not seeming to know how to respond to his treating her with a degree of civility. It actually made Bellamy feel a little guilty that she was so disoriented by his being something less than an asshole. He’d had Clarke in his life longer than he hadn’t by this point, and it was suddenly striking him as a little sad that it had taken some stupid fucking bet from Murphy to encourage him to be friendly.

 

“It’s not every day I get to play knight and savior to a princess with a flower crisis,” he added because of course feeling bad about how he treated her in the past meant he had to double down on exactly that behavior in the present.

 

Clarke shook her head like she was disappointed in him and he couldn’t help but agree as she ducked into Octavia’s room to change from her P.J.’s.

 

Bellamy slunk back into his own room and exchanged his likely dirty t-shirt for a definitely clean one from the top of his dresser (putting clothes away was by far the worst part of the laundry process) and a pair of golf shorts (which he bought for all of the 0 times he had ever played golf). He brushed his teeth and momentarily considered his hair wondering if trying to impress Clarke into dating him meant that he had to do something more drastic than paw his fingers through it. He ultimately decided that the disheveled curls look had worked well enough with the ladies so far and he should probably stick with the tried and true standard.

 

Clarke was already back in her seat at the kitchen table waiting for him as he left his room for the second time that morning, shoving his wallet in his back pocket after confirming that he had both his metro card and cash for the market. She jumped to her feet, a canvas bag slung over her shoulder and sensible boat shoes on her feet in preparation for a walk. Obviously they weren’t just taking a quick metro ride over to the market for flowers. An artist like Clarke couldn’t go somewhere like that without taking time to fucking _browse_.

 

Of course she was wearing ‘the shorts’ too. Clarke owned this one pair of cut offs that got exceedingly more frayed and therefore increasingly shorter every time she wore them. By this point they were just grazing the bottom of her ass and they effectively tested Bellamy’s self-control more than anything else on this planet. She had tucked an absurdly oversized paint streaked t-shirt, so huge it hung off one pale shoulder, into the waist of ‘the shorts’. Leave it to Clarke to wear a smock out in public like it was a fashion statement of some sort, he had never met someone who could so effectively pull off the sexy drifter look.

 

Bellamy narrowed his eyes, staring closely at the t-shirt under the various and assorted paint stains, “Is that my shirt?”

 

Clarke glanced down at the heather grey shirt on which ‘Ark University Men’s Soccer’ was just barely visible under a particularly aggressive slash of blue acrylic. She shrugged, “Looks like it,” she said simply and he could see ‘Your Attitude Determines Your Altitude’ screen printed on the back when she turned to lead the way out the front door. He winced, remembering that terribly pithy little catchphrase from his freshman year, and had a vague memory of tossing the shirt Clarke’s direction when she had been moaning about losing yet another top in the name of art when he had spent a long weekend at her place visiting O. He had never imagined it would make it into her regular clothing rotation.

 

“You look like a homeless Jackson Pollack,” he told her back after he had assured himself that Octavia was comfortably recovering in front of the T.V. and knew that they would be back for her soon.

 

“You look like a constipated dude-bro,” Clarke retorted, stealing a pointed look back at his Under Armor golf shorts.

 

Bellamy took a few long strides and outpaced her, putting on a faux-offended expression as he faced her and used his back to push open the door to the apartment complex.

 

It was only 10 am and they were a few weeks into September but a wall of smothering humidity slammed into them the second they stepped outside. The mid-Atlantic had weird fucking weather but fortunately, as two natives, they had grown to expect it.

 

Clarke groaned and gathered her wild blonde curls on top of her head, securing them with a large clip. A few tendrils escaped around her face but she looked relieved to have the thick mass off of her neck.

 

The Farragut North metro stop was less than three blocks from campus and they walked side by side engaged in a fairly innocuous conversation over the facts that they apparently lived in a goddamn swamp and that Octavia might have an honest to god alcohol allergy.

 

Living in the district meant they both had consistently funded SmartTrips and they were able to go straight to the turnstiles and down to the station platform with very little ordeal. Bellamy was secretly grateful that the train came within 5 minutes of their arrival. He would never admit to it, but despite just over 2 decades in the DMV and countless trips on public transportation he was never 100% comfortable on the metro. He agreed with a soft grunt when Clarke observed that the stairwells always smelled like piss.

 

They didn’t bother to get seats on the red line and just grab handrails near the door, ready to get off at the very next stop to switch lines. Clarke stutter stepped slightly when the train began to move and Bellamy had a quick second to picture the rom-com meet cute where she falls into his chest, gazes up into his eyes and realizes she’s loved him all along and he walks away with a beautiful blonde girlfriend and a Murphy-slave for the rest of the year as he makes that bet his bitch. The fantasy was quickly shattered when Clarke kicked him sharply in the ankle and told him to stop looking at her like a goddamn serial killer.

 

Nice to know that his heart eyes translated into mass murder in her brain.

 

She hopped out onto the platform at the Metro Center stop just ahead of him and spotted the train across the station just pulling up along the blue line and whatever disgruntled thoughts he had been having over her pointed lack of interest in him were quickly dispelled when she grabbed his hand and started pulling him over to the new train.

 

“I hate waiting for trains Blake, put a little hustle in it,” she demanded, small hand tugging him along as he considered that maybe Clarke might not be the worst person to share his discomfort with the metro with after all.

 

He allowed himself to be pulled along and Clarke snagged an arm between the closing doors of a car near the end of the train so that they whooshed back open and allowed them to squeeze in. Clarke quickly dropped his hand as they walked through the train, a light pink tingeing her cheeks. Bellamy found himself missing the feel of her smaller hand in his and the blush she ducked her head to hide made it a real struggle for him to not reach out and renew the contact. He had a bet to pull off though and following through on some sappy fucking impulse like that was bound to scare her away however genuine it had felt.

 

He slouched into a seat and Clarke sat ram rod straight next to him. It was lucky to find seats this time on a Saturday morning when the trains were flooded with tourists heading out for a day of sightseeing, much less adjoining seats, but Clarke looked decidedly uncomfortable with the proximity after she had unconsciously grabbed his hand a few seconds before. This was going to be a painful courtship if she spooked the second she touched him.

 

They rode the six stops between Metro Center and Eastern Market mostly in silence though Clarke did relax down into her seat after a few minutes. He scrolled aimlessly through his phone while Clarke’s eyes moved over the crowd in the train car. He was well aware of Clarke’s people watching proclivities and knew that the metro was prime location for that particular activity. Something about being an artist he supposed made her more observant than the average person.

 

They got off the train at their stop and immediately began making their way over to the escalator and up out of the station. The platforms were always congested with people trying to figure out which way to go and it was hard not to feel a small swell of superiority being a local who knew exactly what direction they needed.

 

“Breakfast?” Clarke asked, turning to face him as soon as they emerged from the underground station. It seemed that Clarke disliked the coffin of the metro as much as he did since her mood had visibly improved the second she was above ground.

 

Bellamy led the way to the tent that had the Portobello breakfast burritos that he had accidentally discovered while in search of a smoothie a few years earlier and they fell back into the easy conversation they had been having prior to boarding the first train.

 

Bellamy gave her a smug smile at the blissed out expression on her face after one bite of her breakfast to which she just pulled a face and stole a sip of the smoothie he had also bought.

 

“You know there is a decided lack of processed garbage in this,” Bellamy observed, “I’m surprised you’re a fan.”

 

Clarke very maturely responded simply by opening her mouth and showing him a huge bite of partially chewed food. 

 

They wound their way through the market, Clarke pausing occasionally at some fellow artists’ booths (responding only with a vague hum when Bellamy asked if she was appreciating their talent or sizing up the competition) and Bellamy stopping at random to check out some of the cityscape photography (maybe 22 was about time to transition away from frat-house decor after all).

 

It was all of the slow, torturous browsing that Bellamy had anticipated but without the actual element of it being unpleasant. Bellamy found he was genuinely enjoying the morning in all of its sunny humidity and the company was better than past experiences would have lead him to believe. It made him wonder how much of their current hostility towards each other in group settings was just keeping up appearances at this point.

 

They stopped a little longer when they reached a row of produce and plants so that Clarke could look over the cut flower arrangements.

 

“These are the only kind of flowers I can stomach anymore,” Clarke said, the words seeming to spill out without her really considering them, “it’s why I was such a bitch about getting out to the market.”

 

She fingered a bouquet of wildflowers and squinted up at him through a shaft of late morning sun.

 

“All of those arrangements you get at florists or at the grocery store just end up reminding me of my dad. We had literally hundreds of those fucking things around the house after he died and they made me want to puke. They’re all too bright and too perfect, like dead things somebody dressed up to look like they’re still alive. Pretty much exactly like my dad looked in that coffin.”

 

Bellamy stared at Clarke and he was vaguely aware that his mouth was hanging open a little and he probably looked like an utter moron but this girl had just dropped some seriously profound shit, and excuse him for being a little impressed.

It was true that he and Clarke didn’t exactly go out of their way to share heart to hearts or give each other insight into their lives (not in the past anyway) but when he thought about it this was just kind of who Clarke was. She was just… honest, about everything.

 

“These are different though,” Clarke said turning her attention back to the piecemeal arrangements of wildflowers in everything from wine bottles to mason jars.

 

“Yeah,” Bellamy said, rubbing the back of his neck and wishing for the simpler time when the length of her shorts had been his biggest concern, “I sort of know exactly what you mean.”

 

“Figured you would,” Clarke said, with a small half smile as she settled on a jar full of hydrangeas.

 

They didn’t exactly talk about it often, their shared membership in the Dead Parent Club, but it had always been a sort of shared bond between the three of them. When Clarke’s Dad had passed away, very abruptly, even though that wasn’t typically how cancer worked, the Blake’s home had been an escape for her, their sibling banter a welcome distraction. Then when Aurora had been killed Clarke had been a solid presence at their side during the aftermath and the Griffin mansion a safe house for his devastated sister.

 

Bellamy stared at the flowers, feeling a little lost, before grabbing a handful of lilacs himself. For whatever a shithole their childhood home had been, his mother had taken great pride in the huge prolific lilac bushes along the sides. Clarke seemed to remember too if the fond smile she was ducking her head to hide was any indication.

 

“Shut up,” he grumbled, shoving his wallet a little forcefully into his pocket after paying for the flowers. He tucked the lilacs in with Clarke’s purple and blue arrangement and allowed her to briefly see the smile ghosting over his own lips.

 

“I should make a sign for your first game,” Clarke mused, her tone going from sad and contemplative to teasing, “‘Bellamy Blake is an adorable sap’.”

 

Bellamy stepped on the back of her shoes in retaliation but Clarke only shoved her foot back in and buried her nose in the flowers for an exaggerated inhale, her blue eyes twinkling over the tops, and yes he was totally fucked.

 

“It would probably just get you laid even more though,” she finished, carefully setting the flowers down into the bottom of her bag and nudging him conspiratorially. Bellamy wondered how he persisted in having this reputation as an unrepentant ladies man when he had stopped sleeping around before the end of sophomore year. At some point the whole process had just lost its allure. While he was never anything but honest with the girls he got with it was still beginning to feel a little disrespectful, something his mother would have never stood for and something his sister deserved a better role model in. Clarke lived in his apartment for fuck’s sake, she knew for a fact that his bedpost had all of zero notches so far this semester.

 

“I get so caught up in practice and work and doing shit on campus I forget sometimes that I live in the goddamn nation’s capital,” Bellamy said, distracting the conversation away from his fictionally prolific, realistically non-existent sex life, as they paused in front of another potential DC landscape for the apartment. “As much shit as I take for being a history nerd I certainly don’t spend nearly enough time geeking out around the Smithsonian.”

 

Clarke looked at him for a short beat, “Do you have any plans today?”

 

“Not until the bar at 8,” Bellamy replied, having some idea of what she was getting at but still not sure given the newness of their solo friendship.

 

“So let’s be tourists,” Clarke said, a bright smile lighting up her face, “I get to the galleries a few times a month to sketch but I haven’t been to the other museums in years.”

 

Even if this hadn’t been the perfect opportunity for him to spend some extra time with her in the interest of the bet, his status as a history nerd was not as exaggerated as his sexual prowess and museums were kinda like, his thing. There was also the issue that nobody with a soul could turn down Clarke Griffin with her mega-watt smile and enthusiasm for a plan in the making.

 

“Works for me Princess,” Bellamy replied, “tourists it is.”

 

He allowed Clarke to lead the way through the market and back to the metro station despite the fact that her shorter legs would ordinarily put her in the trailing position. They had another remarkably short wait at the station and a quick four station ride to the Smithsonian stop and were stepping out along the National Mall within twenty minutes.

 

Bellamy was starting in the direction of the Natural History Museum, their agreed upon first stop because dinosaurs, when Clarke initiated contact for the second time that day and grabbed his wrist to tug him in the opposite direction. She led him rather forcefully several feet over to one of the street carts hocking every manner of kitschy DC merchandise.

 

“Tourists,” Clarke repeated yet again, waving her arm expansively at the selection ranging from FBI baseball caps to keychains in the shape of the Capitol.

 

“Your mother is a senator, we’ve both lived within spitting distance of this city our entire lives,” Bellamy reminded her slowly, still deciding whether he thought her dedication to the illusion was cute or insane.

 

“Commit to the character Blake,” she ordered, grabbing several items and paying for them before he could put up a fight. He was less than delighted to find an ‘I heart DC’ t-shirt in his size and a pair of plastic sunglasses with the White House across the bridge of the nose. Clarke somehow managed to look adorable still in an aggressively tacky American flag baseball cap and an honest to god fanny pack.

 

“A fanny pack!” Clarke delighted, as if he could have somehow missed that addition to her outfit, “I’ve always wanted to wear one of these and you can’t exactly do it unironically this day in age. I think this is the only chance I’m going to get to wear it and not look like an uber-douche.”

 

“I’m so glad I’ve presented you with this momentous opportunity,” Bellamy teased, dragging his generic Ark U Soccer t-shirt off from the back of his neck and taking a small moment of smug pleasure at noting the way Clarke’s eyes skipped over his torso with a definite look of appreciation.

 

“Put some clothes on you goddamn exhibitionist,” she mumbled but there was a small smile on her face, “We’re playing tourists not strippers.”

 

Bellamy made an absolute _production_ out of tossing his abandoned shirt to her and putting on his tourist costume, pulling the shirt down slowly and pushing the novelty sunglasses up onto his head so they held his dark curls out of his face.

 

“You’re a dork,” Clarke accused, smiling as she stashed his clothes in her bag.

 

“Get ready to eat those words Princess,” Bellamy promised, “we’re about to go museum hopping and the depth of my history knowledge has been known to blow panties right off.”

 

“Except we’re starting in my playground first,” Clarke reminded him as they walked side by side down the mall to the enormous front entrance of the Natural History Museum.

 

Bellamy’s expertise might have lain in ancient history and mythology but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find the totally mind blowing exhibition of the evolution of life on Earth pretty fucking awesome. After the initial sort of awe over the T-Rex fossil in the lobby they dove into each room with enthusiasm that would’ve humiliated their too-cool college friends.

 

It turned out that Clarke hadn’t forgone her mother’s pre-med aspirations for her without serious deliberation and she had a very serious science background for an art major. Evolution and genetics had always been her favorite units in Biology she told him as they walked through the displays and she spoke almost frantically to unload everything she knew about each one. Bellamy found it sincerely refreshing to be talking to someone about ideas, science, and history instead of the inane sort of gossip about people and parties that seemed to dominate his social life since leaving home.

 

They only took a quick break when they got a text in the group chat that included the residents of their apartment. This chat was normally reserved for discussions of groceries and what was for dinner but Octavia was apparently making her way back into the land of the living and blowing it up in her lonliness.

 

O: _did you kill Clarke? you know that is the only body I’m not helping you hide_

 

Bellamy sent her a quick picture of Clarke posing in front of the stuffed saber tooth tiger diorama as she pretended to, in her words, Buffy-kick it in the face.

 

O: _is that a fanny pack?_

O: _I just coughed mid-puke and vomit came out my nose_

O: _and I am embarrassed by you two losers_

Clarke just responded with a string of incoherent emoticons that included a pig nose, a cactus, and a ghost.

 

They completed their lap of the Natural History Museum and Bellamy was given his turn to lecture at the American History Museum. It still wasn’t exactly his field of study but as a history major he had been forced to take courses on pretty much every era at some point.

 

This wasn’t the first time he had taken a girl to the Smithsonian but this was the first time he had officially enjoyed the shit out of it. In the past his dates’ eyes would glaze over after the first few rooms. The romance of revolutionary war memorabilia seemingly lost on them. Then here was Clarke, not even a real date, his little sister’s best friend, his roommate, his constant verbal sparring partner, who he was here with only because he had agreed to a stupid fucking bet with a teammate who had eaten a stick of deodorant for a dollar one time, and she was listening intently, responding and asking questions, and looking at everything with a sort of bright engagement that American History rarely inspired. He knew that she had graduated first in her class and was whip smart, obviously learning was like something of a hobby for her and it was honestly the sexiest fucking thing he had ever seen.

 

This bet was on the verge of ruining his life.

 

They stopped by the Air and Space Museum because it was sort of obligatory, and had an exceptionally long conversation about the merits and disadvantages to living in space before doing quick laps through the Freer and the National Portrait Galleries so Clarke could show him some of her favorite pieces.

 

They paused in the middle of the mall to send Octavia a picture of Bellamy with a Washington Monument erection, the innuendo which she didn’t appreciate nor the sunglasses which were now down over his eyes and looked exactly as tacky as they were intended. 

 

Losers, she reiterated via text.

 

They were stuck in a sort of awkward limbo where they had clearly completed the circuit of their intended museums but neither exactly wanted to end the newfound comradery. It went unspoken, but Bellamy was pretty sure they both realized that they would fall back into old holding patterns around their friends, and whatever this was, it was only going to be between the two of them for the time being.

 

“Think O would ever get over it if we had an early dinner without her?” he asked hesitantly, worried that while a day of geeking out over history and art might be in the realm of friendship and roommate behavior, dinner for two might seem a little intrusively date-like.

 

“She probably hasn’t worked her way back to eating solids anyway,” Clarke remarked, probably very accurately, and that was how they ended up sitting outside at a corner wine bar sharing a bottle and stuffing their faces with overpriced paninis.

 

Bellamy complained a little loudly about snobby DC and its snobby sandwiches but it dissolved into laughter when Clarke solemnly pointed to his chest reminding him that actually, he hearted DC. She put the flowers on the table (to get them some air she explained) and Bellamy enjoyed the rest of the meal surrounded by the smell of lilacs.

 

Clarke didn’t bother to try and argue over the check with him, even though she had a trust fund she could live off of and he was living paycheck to paycheck as a part time bartender. She knew him far too well to try and patronize him when it came to finances and they split the bill in half without discussion.

 

Even though they were both high tolerance drinkers, a full bottle of wine in 40 minutes was enough to leave them both noticeably tipsy and Bellamy decided to blame that for his impulse to throw an arm around her shoulders and pull Clarke into his side as they walked to the metro stop. Unfortunately, it was also easy to write off her willingness to snuggle against him as a symptom of the same condition.

 

“You know Griffin,” he said, “We make a pretty fuck-awesome pair when we’re not at each other’s throats.”

 

“It’s amazing how well we get along when you decide to stop being a dick,” Clarke agreed, using the hand that was snaked around his waist to pinch his side.

 

“Please,” Bellamy scoffed, enjoying the honesty the alcohol buzz was affording them, “you’re just a know-it-all and don’t know how to deal with someone challenging you.”

 

“I had to talk you out of vandalizing a plaque on the War of 1812 in the goddamn American History Museum because you claim they botched a date and you’re calling ME a know-it-all,” Clarke fumed and pulled away from him with a scowl.

 

Bellamy felt absolutely bereft for a quick second before he reminded himself that he had been pushing his luck pretty aggressively with the physical contact in the first place. It frustrated the hell out of him though that Clarke didn’t take know-it-all as the compliment he had meant it as. It was a fucked up world that made girls think that intelligence was something they needed to apologize for. If their pseudo-quasi-maybe-maybe not-date today had taught him anything it was that his type could pretty much be redefined as Clarke Griffin. More than the pretty blonde hair, the stunning blue eyes, definitely more than the killer rack and the perfect ass, he was completely done in by her brilliant mind. When he said know-it-all he pretty much meant ‘marry me’ but apparently that had been lost in translation.

 

It wasn’t like he was completely oblivious to the fact that Clarke was both smart and hot before this moment. It was just that those observations had been buried under several very complicated layers of resentment and confusion. Now he was less than 24 hours into this bet and he was in the middle of a goddamn drunken epiphany that maybe Clarke was less his nemesis and more the girl of his dreams.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC… Reviews make me smile! This chapter felt a little fillery to me but I hope that the fluff made it fun at least... upcoming chapters will drive the plot a little more. Thanks so much for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> School ends for the summer in 2 weeks so I should be able to update a lot more frequently! A new chapter for Signal Fire is coming next but I should be able to get to both of these more often very very soon.
> 
>  
> 
> Come tumblr with me if that’s your thing… I reblog Bellamy’s arms and abs with alarming frequency. I'm CharmingPromise there too.


	3. Polyester Bride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bar shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some edits have been made to the previous 2 chapters so they flow a little better in my mind. I don't have enough apologies to make up for the wait time on this. I have returned from my hiatus however and hope to not be such a disappointment moving forward!

 

* * *

 

I was talking, not two days ago

 

To a certain bartender I’m lucky to know

 

And I asked Henry, my bar tending friend

 

If I should bother dating unfamous men

 

 

And Henry said, “You’re lucky to even know me

 

You’re lucky to be alive. You’re lucky to be drinking here for free cause I’m a

 

Sucker for your lucky, pretty eyes”

 

 

“ _Princess_ , do you

 

Really want to flap your wings and fly

 

Because you’ve got time”

 

 

Polyester Bride- Liz Phair

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke complained loudly about the cottony state of her mouth as they made it back to the apartment with just under an hour to spare before he was expected at the bar. Both of them had above average alcohol tolerance so a bottle of wine between them wasn’t enough to leave either of them drunk. It was, however, enough to remove Clarke’s volume control.

 

They pushed into the apartment where Clarke headed straight to the sink, actually sticking her head under the faucet rather than bother with the step of dragging a glass out of the cabinet that was just slightly out of her reach and inconvenient when she was sober.

 

Bellamy snagged two cups and elbowed her out of the way to fill them both. He handed her one which she gulped greedily. 

 

Once the issue of rehydration had been addressed they both turned to see Octavia scowling at them from the futon. She had clearly been in the process of painting her toenails but the task was ignored in favor of pinning them with a look of complete disdain.

 

“I can’t believe you went to a wine bar without me,” she pouted. Clarke looked sheepish over the rim of her second cup of water and Bellamy felt downright forlorn that he had somehow upset his sister. It had been instilled in him from a very early age that his sister was his responsibility and he took that calling very seriously. It was something like instinct for him to take responsibility for her feelings and it always hurt when she was upset. It took a real and concerted effort to shake the guilt he felt over her disappointed stare; going to dinner without her hardly warranted that sort of regret.

 

“Wine bars have cheese plates and for all of our differences you both know that the one thing we all agree on is cheese plates,” Octavia continued, her disapproving scowl alternating between him and Clarke.

 

Bellamy shook off a second wave of remorse and pinned her with a hopefully equally disapproving stare, “What are you even doing up?” he asked, remembering their rationale for getting dinner without her in the first place. Octavia’s average hangover usually lasted long into the next afternoon and often had her throwing up past dinner time. To see her alert, showered, and seemingly making an effort on her physical appearance like she had plans was highly unusual.

 

“I have a friend who’s working part time as a paramedic who came over and set me up with an IV,” Octavia said vaguely, suddenly very interested in her toenails once more.

 

Bellamy instantly picked up on the lack of personal pronouns and narrowed his eyes at the back of his sister’s head. 

 

“Can 18 year olds even be paramedics?” he asked, suspicious.

 

“I wouldn’t know would I?” Octavia said glibly, shooting a smug look over her shoulder. 

 

Clarke clearly sensed the growing tension in the room and put herself between the siblings. 

 

“Un-uh,” she snapped, pointing an accusing finger in Bellamy’s face. Bellamy had a moment to feel betrayed that he was the one who got yelled at when clearly his sister was the one keeping secrets here before she continued. “You just spent the vast majority of the day being an actual cool human being, please do not go fuck it up now with your weird, vaguely misogynistic, over-protective bullshit.”

 

Rude, Bellamy thought, but also not inaccurate. 

 

“I’m not-“ Bellamy began to protest, but Clarke beaned him with a loaf of bread off the counter before he could finish. 

 

“And you,” she said, turning to Octavia, equally annoyed. Bellamy wrongly assumed there was more to follow because Clarke just walked over and flicked his sister between the eyes. Octavia swatted her away but gave a slightly contrite nod. He should have known better than to expect something coherent since the two girls had moved past needing to communicate everything verbally years ago and could now hold entire conversations with their eyebrows alone.

 

Bellamy rolled his eyes and made a conscious effort to put this mystery paramedic behind him for the time being. He had a 6 hour shift ahead of him at The Dropship and he did not need that particular monkey on his back while slinging drinks to fucked up college kids. 

 

Octavia capped her nail polish and walked across the room in the wooden march of the recently pedicured, motioning for Clarke to follow her to her room. Being left out from cheese plates apparently had a 5 minute anger maximum.

 

“Come on, I’m going to pick out something slutty for you to wear.”

 

Clarke crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at her back, but followed her to their wall of dressers.

 

“I doubt Mulder is really going to appreciate you going through that kind of effort O. He’s pretty obsessed with Griffin enough in her vagabond attire,” he called after them.

 

Clarke opened her mouth to respond but Octavia just kicked the door closed, leaving him standing in the kitchen, mildly intoxicated and alone. It could have been the wine but Bellamy was pretty sure that something was up that he wasn’t being included in. He slowly downed another glass of water, staring at the closed door and straining to hear the muffled voices from behind it. It seemed unlikely that Clarke would gossip to Octavia about her own brother but it wasn’t beyond belief. It had been a long time since Bellamy had cause to wonder about a woman’s feelings towards him and the anxious pit in his stomach felt suspiciously like something that accompanied a crush.

 

Octavia and Clarke failed to help him out by leaving the room or raising their voices so he was forced to change into his t-shirt and leave for work in a suspended state of confusion.

 

“Work now,” he called through the door and the voices behind it hushed just long enough for Octavia to acknowledge him with a brief ‘see you later’.

 

Bellamy settled his headphones on his head and tried to let his music drown out his thoughts, an alarming amount of which were now about Clarke Griffin.

 

 

* * *

 

Any hope he had of forgetting about Clarke and the bet were immediately dashed as he took up his post behind the upstairs bar at The Dropship.

 

“So how was your day Casanova?” Wick damn near purred as he leaned against the bar polishing glasses to prep for the night ahead.

 

Bellamy shot a death glare at Miller who was the only one he had remotely clued in to his day with Clarke and who sat calmly at the end of the bar picking at a plate of nachos. Miller just shrugged and popped a jalapeño into his mouth. There were very few patrons at the bar before 9 PM so his friends often took the opportunity to get discounted nachos, the only debatably palatable thing on the menu.

 

“We went to the museums” Bellamy muttered, knowing full well it was going to get him mocked on several levels.

 

“Uh-oh. Bellamy Blake’s litmus test for girls,” Wick teased, “How did she fare?”

 

“She recited the myth of Atalanta and the golden apples in the National Gallery because it’s the inspiration behind her favorite painting.”

 

The smug look on Wick’s face faded with almost comical quickness.

 

“For fucks sake, you’re in love with her already aren’t you?”

 

Bellamy shifted uncomfortably and took up cleaning the glasses Wick had abandoned. 

 

“I’m not _in love_ with her,” he said defensively, “It’s been like 24 hours.”

 

“Try more like 13 years,” Miller piped up.

 

“I’ve got $50 riding on you lasting at least a week so keep that denial up please,” Wick pleaded, snatching the rag back and stacking clean glasses under the bar.

 

“You have side bets about if I’m going to fall in love with her?” Bellamy sputtered.

 

“Not if, when. And of course we do, you’re a high-key hopeless romantic and I need spending money for the season.”

 

“A week?” Bellamy choked, looking at Wick and then to Miller hoping for confirmation that at least his best friend wasn’t participating in this fiasco. 

 

“Dude, I’ve got double that on 3 years ago.”

 

Bellamy groaned and began to take out his aggression slicing lemons and limes. 

 

“Why do you think I let you go along with this stupid bet in the first place?” Miller asked, his expression shifting to something more sympathetic, “You’ve got some serious feels to work around regarding her and I just want to see you finally happy. Whether that’s with her or just putting her behind you finally.”

 

Bellamy was grateful that the bar was still mostly empty so he was able to pour himself a shot and down it without judgment. He was not typically one to drink at work, even when work was literally an establishment of drinking, but he thought he was probably going to need some incentive to make it through the rest of this conversation.

 

“So we’re going to beat Murphy, take his money, and get you a kickass girlfriend in the process,” Wick beamed, apparently over his disappointment at potentially lost side bets already. He and Octavia had similar inabilities to hold onto disappointment.

 

Bellamy took another shot and resolved to just be honest with his teammates. For all of their joking he was 90% sure they actually did have his best interests at heart and he was quickly coming around to the idea that his best interests might in fact include Clarke. Something apparently his friends had been aware of for longer than him. 

 

“I’m just not sure where to go from here,” he admitted morosely, “Today sorta just happened organically and I really can’t depend on her initiating dates to the Smithsonian continuously for the next month if I’m going to pull this off.”

 

“Jesus, how are you that bad at this?” Wick marveled. “You're lucky you're so pretty or you’d be living a life of celibacy.”

 

Miller snorted, as Bellamy’s best friend he was one of the few soccer players who was well aware that their captain’s promiscuity had not lasted past the first few semesters of college.

 

“You’ve known her for a million years,” Wick continued, “What are her likes and dislikes? It’s a pretty solid fucking handicap that you already know this stuff. Thank god you didn’t decided to fall for a stranger.”

 

Bellamy stared at his fellow bartender and blinked. 

 

Wick sighed and whipped him with a dishtowel.

 

“I’ll start slower,” he said, “What does Clarke like?”

 

Both men paused to fill drink orders while Bellamy contemplated his history with Clarke to provide Wick with an adequate answer.

 

“Books,” Bellamy offered lamely when there was a lull in the press of customers.

 

“And?” Miller prompted, “You two already have some kinky literary foreplay going on and it hasn’t amounted to anything yet.”

 

Wick held up a single finger to indicate he was going to start keeping tally.

 

“Bryan’s here,” Miller announced and pushed away from the bar, “I’ll try and do some recon while I interact with someone I’m interested in, in a completely healthy, honest manner.”

 

Wick shifted his tally to start with his middle finger as a parting shot to Miller but turned his attention back to Bellamy expectantly.

 

“Christ Wick I don’t know. She likes unconventional animal friendships and hates the patriarchy, wet socks, and me. How does any of this help? If you can tell me how to transition the knowledge that she eats more Lunchables than anyone of legal voting age should into a functional relationship then please let me know.”

 

Bellamy served a few jack and cokes with more of a scowl than usual. The entire situation was enough of a clusterfuck when he was just trying to win a bet with Murphy. Now that his friends were actively trying to interfere with his personal life it was getting incrementally worse by the second. 

 

His entire life had revolved around his sister, school, and soccer, three S’s he was comfortable with and perfectly happy centering his universe around for the rest of his days if need be. He was in no way prepared to deal with a crush, especially on the girl in question, and even less so when everyone around him apparently had something to say about it.

 

“Seriously, you’re the worst at this,” Wick opined again, “I give up. You should probably just take your shirt off and hope she gets distracted enough to trip and fall on your dick.”

 

“That’s my usual game plan,” Bellamy deadpanned, punching Wick lightly to show there were no hard feelings, but secretly glad that the conversation was coming to an end.

 

“I could always find a duckling to befriend Mulder,” he suggested, “Unfortunately Scully would probably murder it and disrespect the corpse and that really ruins the impact of the gesture.”

 

“I might try something requiring a little less planning because it looks like you’re about to get another chance,” Wick muttered before quickly retreating to the other end of the bar.

 

Bellamy was confused for all of ten seconds before he noticed his underage sister and her best friend weaving their way through the accumulating crowd on the dance floor and up to his post at the bar.

 

“Am I in some sort of time warp where you are suddenly 21?” he asked, glowering at Octavia even as she pinned him with one of her toothier smiles. 

 

“Hey there big bro! We’re so happy to see you too!”

 

“How did you get in?” he continued to interrogate. One of the main appeals of The Dropship was that he didn’t have to worry about it’s intoxicated patrons getting anywhere near his little sister.

 

“We got really great IDs,” Octavia said primly, not remotely deterred by his obvious anger.

 

“From who?” Bellamy ground out. He was about to disembowel whoever had robbed him of the two carefree years he was supposed to have before he had to worry about Octavia bar hopping.

 

“This is my ID and this is Clarke’s.” Octavia framed Clarke’s right boob and then her left, the beaming smile returning. Clearly there had been some shots imbibed since he left the apartment.

 

He was suddenly rendered completely unable to ignore Clarke’s chest, something he had been trying desperately to do since the pair approached. He had taken short notice of the expanse of midriff his sister had exposed and tried to be horrified but it was hard to be distracted for long from the sheer blue top Clarke was wearing over a bra that did absolutely jaw-dropping things for her breasts. He might have put up a fight if he had been aware that they were finding something slutty to wear to his place of employment. 

 

“I’m not sure if I feel empowered or objectified,” Clarke observed, a small frown on her face. Bellamy dragged his eyes up and almost immediately regretted it since the blue shirt did even more incredible things for her eyes. 

 

“Apparently I’m going to have to have a talk with Roan about the difference between legal forms of identification and an underage rack,” he grumbled and was pretty proud of himself for the controlled quality of his voice considering the tests being currently conducted on his libido. 

 

“It was nice seeing both of you. Thank you for visiting me at work. Now leave and please never come back.”

 

“Oh hells no, it took me at least an hour to get this one here into something other than overalls.” Octavia pouted, “I straightened her hair Bell.”

 

Bellamy allowed himself to briefly notice that Clarke’s usually wavy hair was in fact straight. He was actually grateful for this small change since he immediately realized he was very partial to her typical unruly curls that would be perfect to tangle his hands in. He was on sensory overload enough as it was without her just-been-fucked hair further inciting him. 

 

“Come on,” Octavia wheedled, “If we’re going to be out at a bar wouldn’t you rather it be somewhere you can keep your eyes on us?”

 

Bellamy cast his eyes to the ceiling, summoning all of the patience and self-control he had. She wasn’t wrong.

 

“Fine. But I hope you both enjoy drinking ginger ales for the rest of the night.”

 

“Yep, sure,” Octavia said, bouncing up to give him a hug over the bar.

 

Clarke offered a fist bump before Octavia dragged her down to immediately order drinks of the non-ginger ale variety from Wick.

 

Bellamy gave his friend his most exasperated glare as the duo skipped off to the dance floor with a round of shots and drinks. Wick failed on the subliminal communication though and simply mimed boobs in front of his chest and gave him a thumbs up and a smile.

 

Bellamy spent the majority of the next hour trying to do his job while keeping a watchful eye on his sister and Clarke. If he was being completely honest with himself he was doing a fairly poor job of monitoring his sister and a much more successful job of checking out Clarke, but to be fair it was about time for his to loosen the reigns on Octavia anyway. He heard exactly this from Clarke on a regular basis so he hoped that she would be okay with the fact that it was her ass in a pair of tight white pants that helped distract him.

 

They camped out on the fringe of the dance floor with their two stoner friends that Bellamy could not begin to fathom how they got in given they were both exceedingly flat chested. 

 

He saw Miller buzz by a few times, engaging in friendly conversation with each member of the small posse. He more or less trusted Miller but the threat of ‘recon’ made him a little nervous when he saw Clarke glance his direction as they spoke.

 

Octavia moved with a sort of liquid grace that likely came with the athleticism that made her such a talented kick boxer but Clarke could not claim the same skill. Her dancing was about 70% jumping up and down and 30% stanky leg but it didn’t seem to matter as numerous men approached the girls over the course of the evening. Bellamy was consummately thankful that none of them appeared to have any success with either one. 

 

He had apparently helped to raise goddamn MacGyver, however, since despite his best efforts his sister continued to somehow procure drinks. Because they seemed to be doing just fine without asking him, he managed to be caught completely off guard when Clarke disappeared from the group and materialized in front of him at the bar. It was a busy night but not out of control yet so she was able to perch herself on a stool immediately in front of him with little effort on her part.

 

“How bout we put an end to this farce and you just sell me a drink?” she asked batting her eyes mockingly.

 

“How bout you tell me about the paramedic?” Bellamy replied, holding a vodka bottle just out of her reach. He definitely would have been better off trying pretty much any other topic of conversation but sometimes he honestly couldn’t help himself.

 

“No,” Clarke shook her head emphatically, “no, no, no.”

 

Bellamy gave her what he hoped was his most endearing pout but the way her lip curled up in response he was pretty sure he missed the mark.

 

“Clarke will not be involved in sibling disputes for any reason whatsoever,” she recited, “It is literally house rule number 2 right below ‘own your farts’ and above ‘cats get priority seating’.”

 

“Is this going to be a dispute?” he asked, suspicion peaking again.

 

“They are hanging on the fridge, a place I know you are very acquainted with,” she continued, ignoring his prodding, “It's the place that keeps your vile vegetables fresh. House rules are the only thing between us and anarchy.”

 

“House rules which I explicitly refused to ratify,” Bellamy reminded her, leaning across the bar so they could converse over the music which was getting more and more bass heavy the later it got. 

 

“Because you refused to name 2gether as official house band, not because it’s unreasonable for me to expect to be left out of family drama,” Clarke reminded him, face becoming solemn despite the ridiculous place the sentence started out.

 

“He’s good and I think he’s going to be good for her. She’s happy Bell.”

 

Bellamy ran his hands through his hair, “Then why hasn’t she told me?”

 

“Maybe if you stopped being so damn scary about it she would,” Clarke suggested but the teasing tone had returned so Bellamy assumed he was being let off the hook.

 

“I’ll work on it,” he promised and was surprised to realize that he meant it. 

 

Clarke let her grin fully emerge with his assurance and booped him on the nose with a finger before she sat back on her stool. “This calls for shots!”

 

“How did you put it?” Bellamy asked with a smirk, “No. No, no, no?”

 

Clarke rolled her eyes toward the other end of the bar where Wick was taking shots with a cute red head and then looked expectantly back at Bellamy. 

 

“Fine but I’m giving you a water also,” he relented. 

 

Clarke leaned in across the bar this time as he lined up two pickle back shots, Clarke’s favorite, and another thing he could add to Wick’s list of things he knew.

 

“Thanks Dad! Do you have a Flintstone vitamin chaser for me back there as well? I’m not sure I’m getting enough thiamin in my diet.”

 

“Given the proportion of your diet composed of pizza rolls I can promise you that you aren’t,” Bellamy teased. For all of his anxiety he found that talking with Clarke was just as easy now as it was before he realized he may or may not have been nursing a tragic crush on her. Even when they were taking the piss out of each other, there was never a dull moment or awkward stutter and he wondered if maybe he shouldn’t move himself off the list of things she hated. Maybe she got off on their arguments just as much as he did.

 

Here’s hoping, he thought as they knocked back the shots together. Clarke took the moment he spent recovering from the quick vodka, pickle juice double punch to lean further over the bar and pour herself another drink ‘for the road’. Bellamy hoped the way he choked on his own tongue over the view he got down her shirt during her efforts could be written off as further reaction to the shot. He was not the experienced vodka drinker that she was after all.

 

“Look, I’ve got my first art show of the semester coming up this Friday and he’s going to be there,” Clarke said, returning to their earlier conversation, completely unaware of her effect on him as she sipped her newly acquired drink.

 

“I have to clear it with Octavia but if you promise not to be weird and passive aggressive I’m sure she’s just about ready for you to meet him.”

 

Apparently Clarke was going to continue to accidentally set up opportunities for him to spend time with her Bellamy marveled, if she kept it up much longer he was going to start to wonder if she was complicit in the bet or had a side wager of her own.

 

“Weird and aggressive are two of my more dominant traits but I’ll do my best. That’s- Thanks,” Bellamy said, grateful not just for her unknowing assistance in the bet but for mediating a potentially volatile situation with Octavia despite her protestations.

 

Clarke saluted him with her glass and disappeared into the crowd on the dance floor.

 

Bellamy tended bar in a mild daze after that, not even bothering with the light flirting that he usually leveraged for more tips. 

 

He nearly didn’t notice when the first few chords of the song played but was unable to ignore Octavia throwing herself into Clarke’s arms with a gleeful yelp. Bellamy was typically of the opinion that anything that made his sister that happy was a good thing but this proved to be a rare exception. Bellamy put his fingers in his ears and glared at Clarke accusingly. Clarke, to her credit, made an absolute production of her ‘who me?’ shrug as she pretended to search the room for the guilty culprit.

 

Jasper of course was fully on board with the musical selection and Octavia jumped onto his back for a celebratory piggyback around the bar as he lip-synced rather convincingly. Clarke gave up her innocent act and flailed her way back to the bar, belting out the lyrics to accompany some confusing arm motions that he assumed were meant to be math symbols.

 

“You, plus sign, me, equal sign, us,” she sang before flouncing back to her friends. Bellamy allowed himself to laugh since that was all he could do when his underage sister and friend came to his place of work and took over the bar all the way up to the music. He also couldn’t say he disagreed with the sentiment of the song. He might have to rethink his position on 2gether as house band moving forward.

 

The music returned to more modern club hits and he watched Jasper and his sister collapse to the floor next to a table Monty and Clarke had staked out for them during their final triumphant lap. Octavia hopped gracefully to her feet as Jasper used Monty’s pants leg to crawl his way back up to standing. Bellamy watched fondly as the foursome settled in to the table, glad that his sister had found people who loved her like he did.

 

“Miss me high, hit me low,” Wick said, breezing past for a quick high five and Bellamy was fairly certain the smile on his face was nothing short of goofy over what he viewed to be a highly successful night all things considered. So maybe his tips were a little lacking but Octavia survived a night at the bar without incident and he had managed something that approximated actual flirting with Clarke. 

 

“What’s up man!” 

 

It wasn’t fair to say that Finn Collins’ voice was enough to ruin his good mood but it certainly didn’t do anything to prolong it.

 

“Is Roan deeply stoned tonight?” he asked rhetorically.

 

“Dude, Chuck E Cheese is like 5 blocks north of here and I’m pretty sure they’re closed for the evening,” Wick interjected as he paused behind Bellamy on his way back to the other end of the bar.

 

“It was probably the music,” Bellamy mused. “He is summoned by the playing of dated boy band hits. Some sort of sorcery contained within his hair.”

 

“Thats some dark magic transcending the limits of satire.”

 

Finn laughed along with them assuming the conversation was good natured hazing instead of the outright mocking Bellamy intended. There was a sliver of him that felt a little guilty mistreating one of his teammates but there was something about the young defenseman that triggered him. He played like he was sensitive and enlightened but there was a sense of entitlement he just couldn’t hide and more than a hint of white savior complex. 

 

“You were right about the cheerleader house, it was totally beat last night,” Finn observed, apparently still under the impression they were holding a conversation.

 

“What can we get you man?” Wick asked, for which Bellamy was grateful since he wasn’t planning on doing anything more helpful than glare.

 

“Uh- two pickle back shots would be great,” he ordered, shaking his hair away from his face in the manner that made Bellamy especially twitchy.

 

Wick filled the order and Bellamy tried not to openly scowl as he carefully navigated away from the bar.

 

The shots shouldn’t have been a giveaway, its not like its an especially unique drink order; but the fact that circumstances had been going so perfectly his way definitely should have been a clue that things were about to take a drastic nose dive Bellamy mused as he watched Finn cross the dance floor and hand one shot off to Clarke. 

 

“Did we know this?” Miller asked, seeming to materialize out of nowhere due to some best friend telepathy that signaled he was needed. 

 

Bellamy watched as Finn leaned in to say something and Clarke tipped her head back to laugh. His hand hovered near her hip and she looked genuinely delighted by whatever he was saying. Bellamy wanted to break things and he wouldn’t be disappointed to start with Finn Collin’s face.

 

“Well this certainly fucking complicates things,” Wick observed. Bellamy thought he summed the situation up pretty perfectly. 

 

—-

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC. I'm so sorry again for the frankly absurd period between updates. I haven't abandoned this though and promise better dedication. I came back to this WIP first because he had the most reviews so please know that I see all of your kind words and they mean the world to me. Thank you so much and I hope upcoming chapters live up to expectations.


End file.
